


Marked.

by PurpleLines



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr - Freeform, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Birthmarks, Death, Destiny, Ham's a redhead and Burr's a brunette in this, Historical Accuracy, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Nope nope nope nope nope, Please Kill Me, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, To An Extent, Why did I write this again?, duels, historical appearances, the 3 D's of the Hamburr duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleLines/pseuds/PurpleLines
Summary: Inspired bythis prompt.





	Marked.

The man's face paled as he looked upon the infant cradled in the doctor's arms, and he nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. The doctor seemed uneasy as well, yet still he managed to choke out a single sentence amidst the shock.

"It's a boy."

The doctor handed the baby back to his mother, a slightly terrified look on his face. Beside her, the child's father looked upon him in horror, his gaze flitting between the doctor, his wife, and the baby she held in her arms.

The woman looked up at her husband, confused. "My love, is something wrong?" He did not answer. He merely looked away, refusing to meet her eyes.

She didn't understand what was so wrong. In her arms she held a beautiful baby boy with dark hair and beautiful dark eyes. A healthy baby boy. She was so happy. Her first child. Yet...

"Doctor, I can see the baby's birthmark near his temple. What does it mean?" the woman asked innocently.

After a brief and tense silence, the man replied, "That, madam, is the mark of murder."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

48 years later, two shots rang out on the dueling grounds. One bullet made its way into the branch of a tree. The other, however, made its way into the torso of a forty-seven year old man with graying ginger hair and violet eyes.

The man who had fired it, graying black hair and black eyes, looked upon his opponent in horror as he fell to the ground, blood beginning to stain his coat. The man's second rushed towards him, shouting for the doctor.

The victor, as if in a trance, began to walk towards his fallen opponent, but was stopped by his own second, who looked him dead in the eye. He merely shook his head and lead the victor away from the dueling grounds.

The ride to New York was silent, yet upon reaching his private study the victor quietly shut the door before he broke down and wept. Carefully, the victor's hand shakily made its way up to his left temple, the tears covering his fingers smudging the many layers of make-up that was there and revealing a dark mark.

A birthmark.

Slowly, shakily, the man got up, and got a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim late at night. End me.


End file.
